


The Best Love is the Love That You Give

by LogicalBookThief



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Amnesiac Stan, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mabel and Stan being there for each other, heart-melting sweetness between these two really, post weirdmaggedon, with some bittersweet feels thrown in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as she saw him standing in the middle of the room, silent and dazed, she knew something was amiss.</p><p>“Grunkle Stan?” she called. He startled at her voice, apparently too lost in thoughts to notice her, even after Waddles had given her an oink of acknowledgement. “Are you alright?”</p><p>He blinked at the question, mouth opening and closing around soundless words. Aside of him, Waddles nuzzled his leg, attuned to the distress of those around him. </p><p>“…do you know where you are?” she added quietly.</p><p>* * * </p><p>A look at Mabel's first and final night at the Mystery Shack. Written for request on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Love is the Love That You Give

**Author's Note:**

> Because the world could always use some more Mabel and Stan bonding/interaction/fics and I am happy to oblige. Writing this made me emotionally, especially pretty close to my own grandfather. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy :)

Her first night in Gravity Falls, Mabel had trouble falling asleep. Unlike Mr. Skeptical Pants Dipper – who, despite his reservations, was sleeping soundly in the bed across from her – she was determined to make the best of their summer. But while the weird old Shack that was to be their home for the next three months had its charms, it _was_ a totally new place, and that was always a wee bit frightening at first.

Especially at night.

She considered waking Dipper, if only for some company, but figured he would most likely only be a crank, him having not slept a wink on the bus ride, and then arrived at their destination wholly unimpressed. So instead, she opted to walk downstairs for a glass of water.

As she braved the dark staircase, however, Mabel realized how grossly she had underestimated this task. Each creak was a potential monster lurking in the shadows. Each noise her bare feet made as they shuffled across the wood made her heart pound with paranoia. She had _meant_ to be sly and stealthy, but in the end, couldn’t help but jog down the steps as speedily (and loudly) as possible.

Once she reached the first floor, she flattened against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief. A burst of triumph evaporated her fear. _Ha!_ Silly brain, see, there was nothing to be scared of–

“What’re you doin’ up, kiddo?”

Mabel squeaked like a cornered mouse. Whirling around, she saw that it was none other than their grumpy new caretaker, the man of mystery himself: Grunkle Stan.

He chuckled at her jump, face illuminated by the lantern he held. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Mabel calmed at his teasing tone. “Actually, you seem _less_ scary in the dark,” she said with a thoughtful smile. Rather than he offended, the old man threw his head back and laughed.

Rather than he offended, the old man threw his head back and laughed. “Heh! Now what’s got you creeping around with an old bat like me? Exploring the new digs?“ 

(It didn’t occur to her, way back when, to ask what _he_ was doing sneaking around so late, and only much, much later would she discover the answer to that loaded question)

She shook her head, explaining, "That’s more Dipper’s forte.” Fidgeting with the hem of her night shirt, she contemplated admitting _why_ she was restless, yet thought it might be rude to tell the man that his house was creepy.

“I just couldn’t…well…”

Grunkle Stan snorted, saving her the trouble. With surprising accuracy, he deduced, “Nah, I understand. Stuff’s always going bump in the night in this ramshackle ole place and it creaks as much as my spine anymore.” His face belied an expression she guessed she was simply too young to fully understand.  "Took me a while to get used to sleeping here, too…“

At this admittance, Mabel peered closer at her guardian, initial perceptions shifting like clay between her fingers. Without the glamor and grandeur of the tourist trap behind him, Stan appeared softer, his crusty edges dulled by the absence of a stage; yet he was also bared in a way the limelight never revealed.

She found herself warming to him more already.

"Eh, anyway. How’s about a mug of hot chocolate before I send you back to bed?” he offered, scratching the side of his nose. "Might do the trick and I could do with a cup myself.“

"With sugary marshmallows on top?” she gasped excitedly.

Stan shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Letting out a silent whoop of joy, Mabel paused, pondering, “Won’t that spoil my breakfast?”

“Hm, good point. Your folks probably wouldn’t approve…” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Good thing I’m an uncle!”

Mabel returned the conspiratorial grin as she followed her new partner in crime to the kitchen, her apprehension was dwindling. Sure, the Shack seemed foreboding and unapproachable at first glance, but like Stan, she was now certain that once she got to know it better, that would change.

* * *

Her last night in Gravity Falls, Mabel didn’t fall asleep at a decent hour, but for entirely more practical reasons. She _had_ to stay up to finish Stan’s Goodbye Sweater before they left in the morning, after all.

Somehow she managed to remain awake later than Dipper, the tip of a chewed pen hanging out of his mouth as he snored lightly. She removed the plastic before he could accidently swallow it (though knowing him, it would only soon be replaced by his shirt). Now that her knitting was finished, all she needed was Waddles so she could lay down.

This was their last night together before she had to leave her pudgy little friend behind and she planned to make the most of what cuddling opportunity they had left. She found no sign of her beloved swine until she searched the kitchen, where Waddles was, unsurprisingly, loyally propped beside Grunkle Stan's leg.

As soon as she saw him standing in the middle of the room, silent and dazed, she knew something was amiss.

“Grunkle Stan?” she called. He startled at her voice, apparently too lost in thoughts to notice her, even after Waddles had given her an _oink_ of acknowledgement. “Are you alright?”

He blinked at the question, mouth opening and closing around soundless words. Aside of him, Waddles nuzzled his leg, attuned to the distress of those around him. “…do you know where you are?” she added quietly.

“I…” He floundered, cheeks flushing as he fought for recollection. “I don’t…”

Sensing his mounting frustration, she asked, “Do you need me to get Great Uncle Ford?”

That seemed to snap something into place, at least, although whatever information she had jogged, it remained as wound and indecipherable as a knotted ball of yarn.

“Me? …Stanford Pines. No. Wait, _I’m_ – who I used to be, that’s –”

Gently, she took his hand, cutting off his rambling. It was scary to hear him so confused, and part of her still yearned to find an adult like Ford to handle this, to make things better. But she was getting better at facing her fears and helping Stan through his. He had done so much for her; the least she could was return the favor.

“It’s okay, Grunkle Stan,” she said in that reassuring voice he had used with her that first night. She patted his arm, smile never faltering. “How’s about we get some hot chocolate and look at my scrapbook? Or just watch some TV. Whatever you want, even though it’s _way_ past either of our bedtimes.”

A minute passed, and then another, yet she remained patient. Her faith was rewarded when, slowly but surely, the furrows of his brow smoothed over, and a grin curled across his mouth.

“Okay,” Grunkle Stan agreed, giving her small hand a squeeze. His reply was tentative, but she could see that same mischievous glint reflected in his glasses, the one she had come to know and love. Their hands firmly linked, she heartily squeezed back, leading him towards the kitchen.

“If you’re having trouble sleeping, I totally understand. When you’re not familiar with this old house, it takes some getting used to…”


End file.
